#incompetent mayor and everything

[marvanne111]

Jack Skellington is Eric Chapman coded, change my mind

[mushroomofficial]

.

[eyedrateanatomy]

lila is irresponsible and needs to discipline her son better because lets be real. whos fault is it that skid keeps thinking its ok to disrespect adults and run off on his own. at the same time lila has been going through absolute hell and i genuinely do not understand how anyone thinks she could be able to raise skid by herself. she lives in Nightmare Land. this is a town possibly founded by a cult. like. listen ok this is everything thats happened from her perspective

-her husband and love of her life dies and she is inconsolable. assuming her husband didnt allow her or skid to be outside on their own, she lets skid experience his first taste of freedom at the candy store

-skid and pump are outside avoiding the danger of the two thieves and return home perfectly fine, saying they saw the stars

-lila keeps skid away from the rat and is later attacked by a demon. skid returns home unscathed with a toy and the demon is "defeated"

-skid is sent to mr wonders house, and assumes hes stayed at his house the entire time she was gone, since susie told her nothing. she successfully protects skid and pump from the doll and no longer deems it a threat

-lila missed the news that bob velseb escaped from prison, therefore assuming that its safe for skid to be outside on his own. there are also many kids walking outside by themselves already, not just lilas. its only after a direct confrontation with bob that she runs off on her own to find skid and bring him home safely

-her house is broken into again even with a newly installed alert system, and trusts jaune to take her out to drink to cope with the stress. she still assumes susie and mr wonder are capable of taking care of skid. when she comes home, shes told off for being irresponsible and receives little to no elaboration or sympathy

what lila needs to recognize is that her son is very likely getting into dangerous situations without her knowledge. she doesnt need to know what happened, just needs to see that there might be a pattern. skid is physically and mentally healthy, yes, but its a precaution she needs to take. she can track him on his phone or find the time to take him and pump places on her own. and im not gonna judge her too harshly yet for leaving him alone in episode 7 (presumably) because i dont think this is something people will get right on the first try. skid himself mightve fallen back into old habits and snuck off, who knows. lila clearly loves and cares for her son. like an Incredible amount, but she needs to stop thinking that letting him outside on his own or with other kids is safe. if it was fine before, its not fine now. this needs to be clear to her. if only a certain yellow themed individual showed concern for her friends son and not just his mother. i dont know, im not a drinking buddy

its not just her thinking this, jaune does this with her own kid, ross. carmen does this with roy, she doesnt seem worried one bit about roy being on his own, her only concern is who he hangs out with. as for susie? even though shes a teen, shes more concerned for what their grandpa will think. mr wonder himself doesnt have any idea what pump is doing outside either. this responsibility falls on a majority of the town, and its scary that lila, who has the closest ties to the actual cult leader influencing their livelihoods, has fallen victim to the same irresponsible parenting habits

mayor evermore is a heavy influence, too. hes already convinced the citizens into believing the town is just slightly more safe by removing gun rights and restricting them only to the police force. and as for the police force? evermore was 100% willing to replace jack and john with two incompetent nutjobs, fully believing them to be unable to get rid of a serial killer in less than 24 hours, as if he didnt want them to be successful. thats Such a horrible decision to make, and i cannot see this benefiting the townsfolk at all. i dont know, im not a mayor

you know what, there Was an actual responsible adult who looked over skid and pump and made sure they were safe, following them and disciplining them over the many dangers and warning signs they overlooked. you know what happened to him? he got indoctrinated by the cult overseeing the entire town. its because hes a priest posing a threat to their own religion, but its still telling that the only adult who was able to convince skid and pump to be more responsible and look out for themselves, was heavily reprimanded for it. and who knows, pumps parents couldve been responsible themselves, but we all know they were forcibly separated from him and susie, leaving them under the care of their grandpa who already needs his own separate help. i cant assume theres a pattern, but its still strange

etc etc not only is lila struggling to be a responsible mother but this stupid cult town is making her and her friends actively worse parents by tricking them into thinking their kids are in zero danger. all these missing kids posters, and somehow theyre still convinced their children will return home safe and sound. they cant all seriously be that stupid. this isnt derogatory im seriously concerned for these people. what are they being told on the news. maybe if lila learns to be responsible, itll break the cycle and help her friends and her friends friends be better themselves or something. i feel like these citizens are being left in the dark about whats Truly happening. i dont know, im not a parent

[koszmarnybudyn]

Here's a long poem about the teens, and growing up and about a lot of things, its called "You have to kill god"

You and your besties need to kill god, maybe you were always destined to, fate is such a picky woman after all, you didnt ask for it, there should have been better options, maybe there were, older, stronger wiser, but there all useless now. You didn't want to kill god, not untill you were in highschool, not untill you saw the incocent die, not untill you saw the ones in power as corrupt, your kindegarden teacher smiled so wide as those kids grew up much faster than they should, oh so wide, you did too you think, the clothes from a few weeks ago dont fit anymore, the photos on the walls feel fake, you shouldnt look so young, it doesnt feel like you, but it is, youve changed, it hurts, and isnt that the thing that comes for us all, after all youve seen death, you know heaven and you know hell and you know they are both shells of what they told you, both run by incompetent assholes, so you have to kill god, there is no debate. The mayor died, i guess nurture failed after all, youve been destined to be what you are, and what you are is nothing, the blood you have has always dragged you here, the first hands to hold you were the ones to burn those marks into your soul, do you have a soul? You share one, so you must, but maybe you dont maybe you are as hollow as you feel, he didn't, do you even remember him? You never did. hes back, he is going to die, he said he loved you, you dont think he lied, but youve been wrong about many things. You know this one, you have to kill god, he never hugged you enough, he wasnt there enough, will you be the same? Will your hands also hurt more than they create, will the act of creation be something worse than that of destroying. Will your children ever forgive you, will you love them enough? You were never enough, they never liked you, you now know there is a diffrence. It hurts, it always hurts. You have to kill god, they were suppose to do it, they failed, they always fail, dont you always fail as well? You tried so so hard, you studied, you learned you listened, it wasnt enough, its stupid, its like soooo stupid, you shouldnt care, youre cool like that, you still care. You always cared, more than you should have. You have to kill god, hes stupid, he tried to be like you, well he pretended to be, you belived him, you freed him, he lied. They voted for him, he was beloved, your mom loves him, your dad loves him, you never got the hype, maybe you tried it, they spoke so highly of him, in his nice suit and with his firm handshake, with his perfect smile, he nearly got you and your friends arrested, he nearly got you killed, he made the public hate you, you were never safe, were you ever safe? Is anyone ever safe? You dont know, you wish you did, you wish for so many things. That's youth isnt it, being foolish and dumb and trusting people you shouldnt, maybe all adults suck, maybe they all want to see you fail so they can scream about your generation as you crawl up clifs they made by destroying bridges their parents built. Maybe all life is a battle, you were too young to know anything else, they were always fighting, they didnt rest they sacrificed everything, you should be greatful why arent you greatful!! You are so disrespectful!!

...Why dont we talk anymore? You used to be so small, and life was simple, and now with the strechmarks and the too short tshirts came the difficult, there came the power the independance, the knowledge, but you still know nothing, how can you be so dumb. You used to be soooo smart, maybe the world got dumber, the adults seem to, they dont get it, you have to kill god and then theres homework and the extracuricullums and well you gotta sleep sometime so no sorry can't hang out schedules pretty tight sorry guys maybe next month. You know they didnt require seatbellts in cars once? The world got safer, simpler, so why arent you? Why are you still fighting, you should be at the club, sonics maybe, sneaking alcohol into parties, trying vaping, dancing to shitty pop songs, but you arent, you maybe never will, will you even go back to highschool, its probablly ash now, rubble maybe, youve been absent for months, dad talkes about going to sleepovers, the one you did ended in a double kiddnapping. You dont know what youll do in the future, will you have a future? After you kill god maybe, youll go to school, collage, get a job act like everythings normal, carry on, smile, act like the scars you have are from fireworks or dumb accidents, not enemies and spells. You have to kill god, you dont know how, youll have to figure it out, yoy always do, they never gave instuctions for this stuff. You have to kill god, and maybe its not alright, and maybe it never will, but you are trying and you are here with your besties so maybe you can do it, this once.

[destinygoldenstar]

”Radar is useless and a total screw up”

Proved again and again to be incredibly organized with everything going on

Was able to run all of BeaconTown on his own without anything going wrong

Only lost the clock because of an Admin snap he couldn’t control

Was the one who caught onto the Admins trap in the ice palace

Outlasted Vos in the arrow challenge (in the arrow challenge route anyway)

Saved Jesse in the arrow challenge

The parkour challenge was impossible even for Jesse, so it’s not hard to say this was rigged against Radar and his failure was not his fault

Again, even Jesse and Jack/Petra couldn’t resist the golems at the prison

Held his own perfectly fine at the Admin Trial grounds & was a key player to them passing it

Saved an entire town of people

Outran a giant Enderman for Notch knows how long

Saved everyone from the Terminal in the end

Jesse would not be able to leave with Petra if Radar didn’t exist as a competent candidate to take their place as BeaconTown Mayor

Now tell me, how many times did Radar genuinely screw up and was entirely his fault that he screwed up?

Once. Just once. When he looked at the Enderman in Episode 4.

Other than that, Radar proved all throughout the game that the people saying he’s an incompetent fool is wrong. In actuality, he’s plenty smart, passionate, organized, and plenty competent. But people like Stella and the Admin rig the narrative to make him a failure, which is on them and not him.

Don’t get me wrong, you’re allowed to hate this character. There are genuine and valid criticisms you can make of Radar as a character to explain why you don’t like him. (Ex: Rough voice acting (sorry Lowenthal). His obsession with the New Order being annoying sometimes. His character arc being something you’ve seen a million times before, and done better) But THIS isn’t one of them that I understand.

There’s what certain characters say, and then there’s what’s shown on screen. Subtext is a thing.

Radar isn’t incompetent, and he’s a very important character to the story as the new generation of heroes in this world and the one that saves the protagonists in the end. (In one route anyway, and even in the other route, he’s still promoted and his promotion is responsible for Jesse’s character arc reaching its end) He’s NOT another Jar Jar Binks all I’m saying.

[feroshgirlsims]

Chapter 1.2 - Bad Dreams Are for the Birds

[POV: MIKO]

The Art History department has two other TAs, but as far as Miko’s concerned, they’re both bullshit.

They haven’t proven themselves incompetent yet, but it's only a matter of time before someone drops the ball, leaving Miko to pick it up. It’s how it always goes down, which is why, despite feeling like absolute crap, she’s organizing the art supply room by herself. 

Next week, the undergrads will start working on pieces for their first critical review. A lot of them are talented, but they’re also inexperienced. And as silly as it seems, having their supplies clearly labeled with helpful hints will be a gift from the Watcher when some professor is picking apart their work and demanding they make quick changes. 

You mean when some professor was picking apart your work because you’re incompetent.

It takes everything to ignore the nasty voice in her head and her burning need to pee. It’s just stress, anyway. She slept like shit—horrifying dreams kept her up half the night—and she still needed to get here early to finish up before the other TAs arrived. 

Her nightmares made no sense. Miko is only 24; she shouldn’t be worried about running out of time. But the clock in her dreams filled her with terror, and she had the strangest sense that she never used to worry about time at all. 

In fact, she used to wield it. 

It’s the kind of bonkers thought she doesn’t allow herself to have anymore. 

Usually, she was fine once she was on campus. It was where she could pretend she didn’t live in a tiny clapboard house in a Newcrest neighborhood the mayor swore would gentrify but hadn’t changed much since Miko was a kid. 

Not that gentrification was good. By the time they cleaned up the drunks in the park and picked up the trash, the cost of housing would be too high, and Miko and her grandmother would have to find somewhere else to live.

And your mother? Did you forget about her, or are you just extra delusional today? 

Miko doubles over at the thought. The worst part is that she knows it's her. She’s being mean to herself and has no idea how to stop it. 

Maybe it’s not the negative voice, you idiot. Maybe you really do just have to pee.

Son of a bitch. That’s probably right. Ignoring the implications of arguing with herself, Miko hauls ass up two flights of stairs until she’s on the second floor of the Commons. 

“Watcher, give me strength,” she prays when she shuts the stall door. The Ojos aren’t religious, but spending primary and secondary school under the watch of cranky nuns gave her the habit.

Her prayers must be getting misdirected, though. While she’s hovering over the toilet seat, fighting for her life, the other two Art History TAs walk into the bathroom and start gossiping. 

“I just don’t understand why she would organize the closet when we already had a plan to work on it this morning,” Emmett says.

“Because she’s a bitch,” Hande laughs, “Seriously. You can’t take it personally. Some sims just don’t know how to act.”

“I mean, but what’s the point?” Emmett continues. “We’re all graduating. Maybe someone will write you a good recommendation for the Royal Arts Fellowship if you go above and beyond. But you can do that without screwing everyone else over.”

“Some sims are unhappy. Like it's a trait,” Hande assures him, “Just ignore her.”

Miko waits until she hears them leave before she limps out of the bathroom stall, bladder still burning and her cheeks joining in on the party. The old nuns were right: The Watcher was a merciless god, and Miko was clearly on her shit list.

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[summercourtship]

a missed meet cute. (edward's pov)

Edward and the reader's first meetings, from his perspective. From ch. 5-6 of Stay to Burn (Only to Drown Instead)- this will not make sense if you haven't read that!! 2687 words. | no warnings

read on ao3 | stay to burn masterpost

Arkham Asylum was both exactly what Edward had expected and nothing he was at all prepared for. When you’ve suffered in one place it was easy to think that all horrible places would make you suffer in the exact same way. And yet, it had somehow been easier to endure the suffering at the orphanage as a child than it was in the asylum as an adult. Maybe it was because when he was an orphan, he knew he could age out or request emancipation (which he had, as soon as he had been able). Here, there would only be escape if he forced it.

But, God, was the asylum boring.

There was hardly anything new going on, no mental stimulation for him to distract himself. He had a crossword from the newspaper (given to him by a sympathetic orderly each week) and a large book of sudoku that one of his previous followers had sent him a few weeks into his stint. He allowed himself to do one puzzle a day, trying to keep the book going as long as possible.

And then he saw her. Passing by a window, a new face in the stale hospital. But not new to him. No, he had seen her before and it only took a few moments to remember that she had been the one standing in front of him at the mayor’s funeral. The one who had let him move in front of her (even though that certainly ruined her view, she was far shorter than him) and gave him a front row seat to the chaos he had created.

When the car had crashed through the building and everyone was escorted out, he’d had half of a mind to find her again. After all, he had overheard her conversation and was interested in the project she was working on. (Because it was about him, that’s what her friend had said, had said that the girl talked about it all the time.)

But, he had other plans with the Batman that day and didn’t have the time to find a random college girl.

However, her friend had left her student ID somewhere clearly visible. A simple glance down at the lanyard and he knew how to find her, her name and student number out in the open for anyone to see. Later, when he was sitting alone and thinking about everything that had happened that day- the rush of his first real interaction with the Batman still coursing through his veins- he remembered her, her friend’s ID flashing behind his eyes as he sat in front of his computer, fingers flying over the keys before he could even think about what he was doing.

The name Marie felt fitting, a sign from a higher power he no longer believed in that he was on the right path.

Once he found Marie, it was easy to find the other girl, the one who mattered. One tag on Instagram and there she was. A small picture on the screen with a witty username and a short description simply stating that she was a student and what she was studying.

And, like a naive blessing, another affirmation that he was on the right path, her profile was public. Not that he couldn’t have gotten past a privacy filter easily. But now he didn’t have to dirty his hands.

He spent a minute or two scrolling through her pictures, but that wasn’t what he was looking for. It was just to solidify her face in his mind. That’s all. (That’s what he told himself. He couldn’t afford to get distracted by a pretty face right now.)

Once he was content with her photos, it was just a few short keystrokes until he had her email address. They really don’t make this information hard to obtain, not when you know how to find it.

He crafted an email then, generating a burner email quickly. This, he knew, could blow up in his face if she wasn’t what he thought she was. And she very well could turn this into the police (not that they, incompetent as they are, could trace it back to him). But he had a gut feeling about her. The way she had leaned forward over the railing, observing everything. The way her friend had described she delved into the research, how she seemed obsessed with it all.

No, he had a good feeling about her.

Normally, he wouldn’t give out the link to his website so casually. He liked that his followers had to work to find it, to prove that they were worthy of his cause. But she wasn't going to be one of his followers, not to the same extent that the others were. He knew that much. She had too much of a head on her shoulders to join a militant online group.

No, she was going to be the one to tell the world about what he was doing, the changes he was going to bring. she would sympathize with his message- karma, her friend had said she’d called it- and do the work of spreading his revelations of truth and justice in Gotham city.

At least, that’s what his fantasy had been. What should have happened if everything had gone to plan. But now he knew that it was foolish to put his trust in others so quickly, to make plans around others actions, especially if he’d never spoken to them. The Batman had taught him that much, the betrayal of his rejection still stinging months after. He had forgotten about the girl after the Flood had failed, his mind occupied elsewhere.

But seeing her on the other side of that glass in Arkham had been like the dove returning to the Ark, the olive branch clutched in its beak a symbol of peace, hope, rebirth. (If his Flood had succeeded, it would be an even more apt parallel but he shouldn't linger on that for too long.)

Ark-ham. Isn't that something?

Edward does not believe in coincidence. There was a reason she was at the mayor’s funeral and there was a reason she was at Arkham now, looking at him from the other hallway.

He stood still, his eyes narrowed slightly, wondering what she was thinking as she examined his face, her eyes wide. She made a movement, stuttering, like her body was trying to bring him closer to him. Then, something drew her attention away from him, a noise from further down her hallway. Edward continued to watch as she turned and hurried down the hallway, his head turning to track her movements.

Then, only a few brief weeks later (the weeks themselves were actually agonizingly long, boring days of doing nothing but trying to engage his mind with whatever was laying around him so he didn’t actually go insane), she appeared again.

This time, he was in his cell, laying on his cot and trying to dull the cacophony of voices from outside his cell. The glass in the cells weren’t soundproof, obviously, so he heard immediately when there was a new noise, his ears pricking up at the sound of the door to the block being unlatched.

He jumped from the cot, moving to the door to see who it could be. The guards weren’t switching yet, and as far as he knew no one had visits to their doctors scheduled for this time of the day. He pressed himself close to the door, peering down to the door.

It was the girl, accompanied by none other than Dr. Crane. The man wasn’t his doctor, but he’d seen him around and had enough small conversations with him to dislike him. (Edward didn’t like seeing you with him. He wondered how you knew him, if you had just met him when you’d- presumably- been hired to the asylum).

He pressed his face against the glass, trying to get a better look at the girl as Dr. Crane led her through the cell block. There was no practical reason for him to bring her here.

As Dr. Crane passed his cell, he gave Edward a side glance, his sharp eyes unreadable as they slowly slid away. But the doctor didn’t stop to say anything, though that insufferable smirk was still on his face. Edward paid him no mind, instead focusing on her.

Her head was craned backwards, examining the skylights and the second floor of cells as she slowly walked through the hall. He pressed himself closer to his door, mentally urging her to look down and see him. His mind was whirring, trying to figure out what he was going to say. Because he knew she would stop to speak with him, there was no way she wouldn’t feel the same draw to him that he did to her.

Finally, she did look down and almost immediately spotted him. Her lips parted, and he could see her inhale, slowly and shakily. But she continued walking, her eyes not leaving him.

Edward was now overthinking, knowing that if she did stop- and she would stop- he would have to start the conversation. (He’d never been good at starting conversations with girls. Or with anyone, really. It was a side effect, he told himself, of not speaking to anyone until he was ten even though he was perfectly capable of it. He hadn’t had the practice.)

What on earth was he supposed to say? Small talk was boring and would sound wrong coming from his mouth. He needed to say something that would grab her attention, that would keep her standing in front of him for as long as possible.

And then, she did stop. He withdrew from the glass, ignoring the fog from his breath. He couldn’t help but feel vindicated that he was right. And then, like he had planned it all along, he said the first thing he could think of.

“I know you.”

“What?” She took a step backwards, her pulse visibly jumping in her neck. He tried not to focus on it. “No, I was here a couple of weeks ago, you might’ve seen me then and-”

“No.” He knew it was irrational to expect her to remember him from City Hall. But still, how did she not remember his face when she had looked up into it and allowed him to step around her, how had she not made the connection when he was caught only a few days later? He realized, then, that he might have to hold her hand a bit. Metaphorically, of course. (For now). “You were there, in City Hall.”

It was satisfying to see the sudden recognition in her eyes, the flurry of emotions that crossed her expression. Confusion, fear, disbelief.

“Oh my god.”

“Karma, right?” And then, because he couldn’t help himself and he simply needed to know, he asked: “How’d that project go?”

“I never-” She shook her head, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s really none of your business.”

He stared at her, suddenly aware that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t like him. He couldn’t fathom why, considering the fact that she had apparently been on his side during his cleansing of Gotham’s corruption.

Then, like a snake, Dr. Crane appeared in his periphery, making his way back to the girl, though he was temporarily distracted by the clown. The girl either hadn’t realized it or was ignoring it in favor of continuing to glare at Edward. He looked over at Dr. Crane, the smile wiped off of his face at the reminder that this conversation was only fleeting and he only had a few more moments of the girl’s undivided attention. Slowly, Edward turned back to her, raising his eyebrows as the riddle formed itself in his mind. Something to keep her occupied.

A breadcrumb.

“What has a long neck, a name of a bird, feeds on ships' cargo, but is not alive?”

He could see her temporary disbelief that she was just asked a riddle. Probably thinking that he was living up to his name, or something like that. But then her eyebrows furrowed, a little crease forming in between them as she tried to figure out exactly what he meant.

The realization of the answer was clear on her face at the exact same moment that Dr. Crane slithered behind her. Edward didn’t miss how his hand found its way to her back, watching the movement with feigned disinterest.

The fact that the girl and the doctor were involved in some way would make this all a lot more interesting. And, he supposed, painful for you once you found out about Dr. Crane.

“Edward.” Oh, how he hated when Dr. Crane said his name. But then the doctor introduced her, as if Edward didn’t already know who she was. But Dr. Crane didn’t know that, of course. “This is my new assistant.”

At the sound of her own name, she whipped around to look at the doctor before back at Edward.

Edward repeated her name, slowly, like he was tasting it on his tongue (and he was- he had never said it out loud before, he’d never had a reason to). He was keenly aware that Dr. Crane was watching her, how her eyes widened and her breath stuttered for a brief moment.

Was she afraid of him? He wasn’t sure how to feel about that- part of him liked that he had any effect on her at all. It certainly felt better than his earlier assumption that she simply disliked him. After all, fear is better than indifference. He could work with fear, could use it to his advantage.

But on the other hand, he knew what Dr. Crane was doing down in the basement. For someone of Edward’s intelligence and perception, it would be hard to not know when half of his patients came back from treatment more delirious and paranoid than before, when those weren’t even symptoms they had exhibited before their sessions. Dr. Crane made his unethical behavior so obvious and yet no one in the asylum cared.

Well, no one that could do anything about it. Until now, with her sudden appearance as Arkham’s newest employee.

“We’ve met before.” Again, he couldn’t help himself.

“I wouldn’t call that meeting.” She was quick to dispute him. Of course, she wouldn’t think much of their brief encounter at the mayor’s funeral because she didn’t know what happened after. All of the work he had put into finding her, all of the imagined plans he had for her. For her, it was just an eventful afternoon that she was probably happy to put behind her.

“I suppose you wouldn’t.” But now it was everything to Edward. He could see her struggling to figure out the hidden meaning in his words. He wouldn’t help her, no, she was smart enough to figure it out. (He liked the way her eyes narrowed at him. Maybe he could work with her disliking him as well.)

Then, crushingly, coldly, she turned to Dr. Crane. “Can we go now?”

They left without saying goodbye. Of course they did, why would they say goodbye to him? But still, Edward pressed his hand against the glass, as if he could reach out and bring her back.

Like she could sense him staring at her, she turned back to look at him. He realized his hand must look like it was raised in a wave. But she didn’t return it, instead facing away from him again and continuing to follow Dr. Crane out of the cell block.

With a high squeak, his palm slipped off of the glass as he inhaled deeply, stepping away from the door and away from the prying eyes of the other inmates.

For the first time since he’d entered the asylum, he had something to occupy his thoughts. Plans, a vision of the way out forming in his mind. He wasn’t sure when he’d see you again, but he was sure it would be sooner rather than later.

After all, it seemed that fate was finally on his side.

ed + reader's playlist | poll for next POV

[vladdyissues]

Listen, listen, what if in the middle of the recovery in the hospital Vlad would lack of money and NOT try to steal them, but decided to go "ghost life" (ye, technically he's still halfa but go to his weak human form when he's beaten or needs to have some sleep)? Danny wouldn't know for long time why that ghost is so interested in him and why he can't scent Vlad or his scent is totally different than other ghosts, it would a plot twist of Vlad being halfa, too. I don't think Plasmius would try to seduce Maddie. Revenge from Jack? Yes.

Do you think Vlad would have more ghost friends (like a popular hc of Skulker+Ember+Technus+Spectra+Vlad) or still stay same miserable way?

That's a fascinating alternate universe scenario! Instead of staying in the human world and robbing his way to wealth and power, Vlad flees to the Ghost Zone and tries to eke out an existence there. We already saw in Masters of All Time that his ghost half doesn't suffer (at least not visually) from the effects of the ecto-acne, so maybe it hurt less to be in his ghost form, and that was the impetus for him to flee to the Ghost Zone. It's something to think about.

I honestly don't see Vlad making any actual friends in the human world or the ghost realm. He likes having pawns and minions, people he can use, often ruthlessly*. (See: the townsfolk he overshadowed to vote him in for mayor in Eye for an Eye.) He works with Skulker and employs the vultures and ectopusses to do his dirty work, but he isn't actually friends with them. All he seems to care about is their use to him. He has no desire for friendship or companionship with other people or ghosts who aren't Maddie and/or Danny. And if he can't have what he truly wants, he'll accept no substitutes. It's all or nothing when it comes to Vlad.

*Of course, this could be a defense mechanism; Vlad has been hurt emotionally and physically. He's been traumatized, had his heart broken, he feels betrayed, and perhaps he's afraid to let anyone in now. Deep down, he's so tender, so desperate to love and be loved (see: Maternal Instincts and Kindred Spirits) that he has to guard himself well, otherwise his next heartache might destroy him. He's like a crab: tough exterior but extremely vulnerable on the inside.

I imagine he views ghosts like Ember and Technus and Spectra as incompetent or beneath him. Canon examples: in Torrent of Terror, he only helps free Vortex so he can manipulate him, and when he loses the means of controlling him, he lays on the charm to save his own skin (and then jets, leaving Danny to clean up his dirty work). Same with the Fright Night and Pariah Dark in Reign Storm. He wouldn't deign to actually befriend these ghosts, and he certainly doesn't respect them. To him they're merely obstacles to be overcome, threats to be neutralized. Upon his arrival to the Ghost Zone, I bet he set up a lair somewhere especially hidden and worked on developing his powers until he could easily wallop his competition—and maybe that's how he ended up recruiting Skulker and the vultures, by holding the threat of destruction over their heads.

As for Danny, I'm sure he would be stunned and intrigued to find another ghost hybrid like himself, and if this first meeting were to happen organically in the Ghost Zone, it would put Vlad in a position of power. He could lie to Danny, make up any tragic backstory he wanted, and Danny would have no reason to doubt him; after all, in this universe, Vlad Masters disappeared from the hospital and was never heard from again. Vlad could prey on the boy's curiosity, luring him in with either good or nefarious intentions, and if he played his cards just right, Danny would soon become his first true and loyal friend in 20+ years, and together they could go on to conquer the Ghost Zone.

With a crown on his head and a companion at his side—not to mention the fear and obedience of the inhabitants of the Ghost Zone—Vlad would at last have everything he ever wanted: love, power, and an eternity to enjoy both.

[aldbooks]

Part 2 of the wonderful story started by @captain-of-the-gwynriel-shipas part of the ACOTAR Writing Circle hosted by @azrielshadowssing

Warnings: NSFW and BDSM themes

Find on AO3

Part 1 | Part 3

Summary: Working as a Spy for the Night Corp has gotten Gwyneth Berdara everything she ever wanted out of life: a group of friends who would die for each other, a chance to make a difference, and a love she only thought existed in fairytales.

Gwyn is undercover in Mayor Beron Vanserra's office to expose the hidden truths about how he came into power. Her true reasons for working at the Mayor's office aren't the only thing she's keeping secret. Her relationship with her supervisor, Azriel, is kept tightly under wraps. If anyone found out, it would change their lives forever. When a masquerade fundraiser poses the perfect setting for her mission to proceed, more than just Beron's secrets are brought to light.

Ch 2 - 3995 words

NSFW warning 🌶🌶🌶

“Son of a-” Gwyn swore viciously as Eris-fucking-Vanserra sauntered into Rhysand’s office and leaned against the side of the desk, smirking at her.

“Always a pleasure to see you, Berdara,” he crooned. Beside her, Azriel growled. Actually growled. It was a fight not to look at him. 

Quickly gathering herself, Gwyn leaned back in her chair, and returned Eris’ smirk with one of her own. “Daddy finally finished yelling at you?”

Something dark flashed in his eyes and for a moment she was struck by how much like his father he looked. Were it not for the red hair he inherited from his mother, Eris could have been Beron, twenty years younger. 

“Were you worried about me?” Eris asked with a little condescending pout. Gwyn rolled her eyes and Eris’ expression turned cold. “I’ve been dealing with my father for longer than you’ve been alive. Don’t cry for me. Besides, if you’ve done your job right and not just been parading around my father’s office in short skirts for the last month, no one will be dealing with him any longer after tomorrow night.”

Gwyn tensed, her lip curling at the insinuation she was incompetent at her job. She could feel Azriel preparing to lash out but, before either of them could respond to Eris’ taunting, Rhys stepped in. 

“Azriel was just assuring us we have what we need. Our teams have been coordinating the plans for tomorrow night, and you are all here to discuss your roles in those plans.” Rhys gestured to a third chair beside his desk that she had failed to notice earlier and Eris sat, smoothly reaching up to unbutton his suit jacket as he did so. Crossing one leg elegantly over the opposite knee, his elbows rested on the chair's arms, chin propped on the knuckles of one hand. The picture of arrogance.

She hated him.

Waving a hand lazily, Rhys said, “You have the floor, Eris.”

Amber eyes glided over Gwyn from head to toe in a clinical sort of assessment that set her teeth on edge. “If I know my father at all, he’ll have arranged for you to attend the gala in a dress he hand picked for his own pleasure. You can decide if you actually want to wear it or not,” he shrugged. “He’s equally as likely to either get you alone at the first opportunity to rage about it, as he is to ignore you entirely, as his own warped form of punishment for not capitulating to his commands.”

His voice was casual but there was something in his tone, a subtle edge of bitterness that made Gwyn think Eris had likely been subjected to the same sort of bullshit psychological games his whole life. Again, she felt a pang of sympathy for the man for having to put up with Beron as a father… if only just a little one.

“However,” Eris continued. “Invariably, the easiest way to rile him up and thus make more likely to make a mistake, is to piss him off as much as possible. To that end, I’ll be escorting you to the ball rather than sending you alone. Father never much cared for sharing his toys.”

Azriel shifted in his chair beside her, his entire body vibrating with tension. She would have been more inclined to be insulted by the insinuation that she was some sort of possession of Beron’s had Eris’ curling lip not made it obvious how distasteful he found the notion. If there was one good thing that could be said about the Vanserra brothers, among the cesspit that was their reputation, it was that they all loved their mother and she imagined seeing their father constantly disrespecting her with his various mistresses would disgust any of them. 

Rhys must have recognized that Az was about one more vague insult away from tearing the man to shreds as he once again stepped in. “Eris,” he sighed. “We could do without the colorful commentary. Please just explain the plan.”

Eris’ brow twitched challengingly at Azriel, and Gwyn had to resist the urge to reach out and grab his hand to calm him down. They just needed to get through this meeting and then she’d find an excuse for them both to go home early so she could help him release his anger in a more… fun manner.

Luckily, Eris seemed to understand how close he was to getting his ass beat and adopted a more professional demeanor. “Once we arrive, I’ll take you about the room a bit to give my father a good look at you with me, which should hopefully get him good and angry. I’ll then leave you at the bar or one of the tables to speak with some acquaintance or other, at which point, Beron will most likely abandon my mother to go after you.”

“This is the part where your… expertise, will be needed. He’ll try to get you alone somewhere out of the way where you’re not likely to make a scene, or draw attention- we’re hoping he’ll choose one of the exhibit halls near the back of the museum. From there just keep him distracted and focused and on you, to give the team time to get in place and, once they ambush you, you can play the innocent victim.” He gave her a condescending smirk. “I’d recommend lots of tears, if you can manage it, maybe some hysterical screaming. He has a thing for weak females-”

“We’ll take care of the rest from there, as usual,” Rhys said, cutting Eris off. “Once Beron is in custody, the information you gathered will be shared with our contact in the feds that will begin the public investigations and media coverage while we… take care of Beron. In whatever manner you choose,” he waved a hand at Eris who smiled coldly. 

Gwyn was quite sure that once Rhys’ team had a hold of Beron he would not be long for this world. 

—

After fleshing out a few more details both with and without Eris, Rhys allowed them both to take the rest of the day off to make their respective preparations. Probably, he too was sensing the dark mood Azriel was in and knew he’d be of little use to him in such a state. They made a show of avoiding each other as they left Rhys’ office and left the building separately. Gwyn made a quick run by her apartment where, sure enough, a hideously revealing (and hideously expensive) red dress had been delivered about an hour before, and packing a small bag of items she’d need for the night.

Knowing Azriel as she did, she knew he’d likely have her up half the night, most likely on her knees, and planned accordingly. By the time she finally circled around to his apartment, she had refreshed her hair and makeup and was wearing his favorite lingerie- a strappy number made of black leather, sans underwear since Azriel had a tendency to rip off any she wore (and honestly, given the ungodly prices companies charge for a four inch scrap of fabric, it was an annoying habit). As expected, he was already waiting for her on the couch, knees spread wide as he slumped against the leather and his shirt was already half unbuttoned. 

Without a word, Gwyn dropped her shoes, bag and coat at the door, silently padding over to him and dropping to her knees at his feet. His gaze followed her the entire way, hazel eyes drinking her in from head to toe. She leaned forward, resting her head against his thigh and was rewarded with the back of his fingers skimming over her cheek. She leaned into the touch.

“Are you up for playing tonight, Angel,” he asked, just as he did every time they played like this. Azriel was always naturally dominant in the bedroom but, during those times he craved more than a rough and dirty fuck, he always checked in with her first to make sure she could handle it. 

Gwyn nodded and Azriel’s fingers curled around her chin, his thumb pulling her lips apart. “Use your words, Angel.”

“Yes, sir,” she purred softly, sucking his thumb into her mouth. He made a little sound of approval, his eyes riveted to the smear of lipstick she left on his skin. 

“Hmm. What shall I do with you tonight?” he mused.

“What do you need?” She wouldn’t play the part of his brat until she knew what he needed from her, and how she needed to pace herself and push his buttons.

He thought about it for a moment, studying her. “Can I have your ass?”

She winced. “Not tonight.”

Nodding slowly, he rubbed his thumb over her lower lip again, smudging the deep red over her pale skin. When he was in moods like this, she made sure her makeup was easy to take off as he enjoyed making a mess of her. She could already tell she’d been washing mascara and lipstick off her cheeks later tonight. 

“Your mouth then?” She gave her consent and his hand slipped around her neck. “Throat?”

“Yes,” she breathed, already anticipating. Azriel was not a selfish lover. For every orgasm she gave him, he returned the favor in triplicate.

Groaning softly, Azriel leaned down to kiss her, pushing his tongue between her lips to dance with hers for a long moment. “Wait here,” he instructed, disappearing into his bedroom. 

She waited as instructed, taking the moment alone to prepare herself. Even though she knew she would end the night very happy, she also knew he would make her work hard for it. By the time he returned with a handful of black objects, she had focused her mind and relaxed her body. 

Taking up his previous position once more, Azriel hooked a thin collar around her neck and soft, cushioned cuffs around her wrists, linked together in front of her body. Tugging gently on the ring of the collar, he pulled her up to lay across his lap, his fingers prodding softly at her already soaked pussy before inserting a toy that rested against both her clit and her gspot when fully inside her before guiding her back to her knees. He picked up his phone, fiddling with something on the screen for a moment. Gwyn gasped and straightened when rather intense vibrations suddenly shot through her before dulling to a low, steady rhythm designed to keep her on edge. 

Azriel smirked. “Ready?”

When she nodded, his palm smacked lightly against her cheek a few times. “Words, Gwyn.”

“Yes, sir,” she panted.

“Good girl,” he crooned. Leaning back, he draped his arms lazy across the back of the couch and said, “Take my cock out.”

She did as told, reaching forward to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants, pushing fabric aside to reveal his hard, pierced length, her movements a bit hampered by the cuffs. She licked her lips, remembering how the studs feel sliding against her tongue and leaned forward to lick along his shaft, flicking her tongue over each piercing. 

Hissing a breath, Azriel quickly gripped her hair to pull her away from him, fisting his cock so the tip hovered in front of her. “I don’t have the patience for you to play with my cock tonight, brat. I need you to suck it. Are you going to be a good girl for me?”

“Yes, sir,” she said in a simpering voice, grinning at him. He growled softly, smacking his cock against her lips before pushing himself between them until she gagged. He guided her for a moment, showing her exactly what he wanted from her before releasing her to continue on her own. 

A few minutes later, after idly playing with the vibration controls while she obediently sucked his cock until she was so close to cumming she thought she might burst, Azriel again grabbed her hair and pulled her off of him, dropping the vibrations so low they were almost nonexistent. She whimpered at the loss. 

“Up,” he commanded, helping her to her feet. Standing with her, he turned her towards the bedroom with a sharp slap of her ass. “On the bed, on your back.”

Scurrying to the bedroom, she climbed onto his massive bed, scooting her body around until she lay on her back, her head hanging off the edge like she knew he wanted. Aching for release, she began to reach for her clit when Azriel stopped her with a soft tsk. “Do not touch yourself,” he ordered. “You come when I say you do. And tonight, you’re not coming before me.”

She pouted, though he ignored her as she watched him retrieve another item from his box of toys. Returning to her, he wasted no time pushing himself back into her mouth, this time pushing down her throat as well, until he was fully buried. Closing her eyes, Gwyn focused on her breathing to control the urge to gag, as she felt two sharp pinches on her nipples where Azriel attached weighted clamps. Fuck, he was really testing her tonight.

Taking her hands and holding them against her chest between her breasts so she couldn’t reach for her clit again, he began to fuck her mouth. His movements were slow, rocking slightly when he bottomed out and she knew he was watching the way his cock stretched her throat with each thrust. He began playing with the vibration controls once more and in no time, she was a sobbing, moaning mess as he brought her to the edge over and over before finally spilling himself down her throat.

She actually did sob when he pulled out of her mouth and turned off the vibrator, pulling it out of her as well and tossing it aside. Before she could complain, however, Azriel had spun her around so her legs hung off the bed and thrust his still hard cock into her throbbing pussy, pinning her to the mattress by her throat. She came as soon as she felt the glide of his piercings inside her, her scream hoarse from the rough treatment of her throat.

He fucked her hard through a second and third orgasm before he came again and finally let her go. “Fuck,” he groaned, cupping her face and rubbing his thumbs through her ruined makeup. “Such a good girl, my angel,” he praised, kissing her languidly. 

She lay boneless on the edge of the mattress, sated and exhausted and let him tend to her as he unhooked her restraints, stripped her down and gently cleaned her up before tucking her into bed with him. “Better?” she whispered as his body wrapped around hers. 

“Better,” he agreed, cuddling her against his chest and kissing her cheek.

For a long moment, there was no sound but their soft breathing before Azriel said quietly, “we’ll tell him after this mission if finished. Rhys and the others.”

Gwyn’s breath caught. Just that morning they had been discussing the possibility of telling their friends, contemplating both the idea of no longer having to hide their relationship and the potential consequences if they made it known. 

“I’ll deal with Rhys- we’ll deal with it together. If they want to separate us and not let us work together anymore…. We’ll make it work… I- I want them to know. I don’t want to pretend you mean nothing to me anymore…”

Gwyn felt tears prick the corners of her eyes as much at the idea of being removed from him as for the words he did not say. I love you too, she thought silently, tightening her grip on his arms that were wrapped around her and turned her face slightly to kiss the arm braced under her. 

Nothing else was said as they quietly drifted off to sleep. 

—

Checking her lipstick one last time, Gwyn snapped her compact shut and stuffed it back into her bag as the car pulled up to the red carpet that had been set up outside of the museum. There wasn’t a ton of press as the most prominent guests tonight were just the local business owners, for which Gwyn was very grateful. She was always careful to avoid having her picture taken in public in case she accidentally blew one of her covers. 

Eris, who had been silent the entire ride since picking her up, luckily seemed to understand this as he exited the car and strategically positioned himself to shield her from view as he helped her out of the vehicle and strode straight to the door without stopping for a single photo. Inside the lobby, they had to wait in a short line as tickets were checked and she took a moment to readjust her dress. 

She’d decided to play it safe and wear the damned dress Beron had sent over, figuring showing up on his son’s arm would piss him off enough. It barely covered her breasts as it plunged low in the front and exposed her entire back, with slits clear up her thigh that made it very hard to successfully hide many weapons on her, though she still managed to strap one of her favorite small knives on the inside of her thigh. 

Beside her, Eris watched her with a bored expression as she ensured her breasts wouldn’t spill out of her top. “Finished?” he drawled when she’d stopped fidgeting. 

Her answer was a silent scowl. 

“I’m inside,” Azriel’s voice murmured through the discreet earpiece hidden behind her hair.

“Us too,” Gwyn said without moving her lips. 

Once their names had been verified, Gwyn took Eris’ proffered arm, pasting a smile on her face as they entered the gallery hall where the gala was being hosted. Her eyes scanned the room for Beron, spotting him in the far corner, his wife on his arm, as he spoke with a councilman, while her expression remained open and curious as though she were being awed by her surroundings and not searching for someone.. 

“I have visual on you,” Azriel confirmed as they moved sedately through the room, greeting various acquaintance of Eris who introduced her as his father’s “right hand woman”, and she played along smiling brightly at each person she met, all of whose names and faces were familiar to her either from previous events or research for cases. 

She clocked the moment Beron spotted her at the same time Azriel did, murmuring as much into her ear. She quietly informed Eris and they stepped up their performance, for Beron’s sake.

Once she’d been paraded around nearly the entire room, Eris seemed to recognize his father’s patience was near its breaking point and he left her at one of the tables scattered throughout the space, ostensibly to fetch her a drink. He hadn’t been gone thirty seconds before a hand latched roughly onto her arm and Beron was hauling her through the nearest exit into one of the exhibit rooms, just as they planned.

Azriel confirmed he’d seen her leave and suddenly she was on her own. 

The way Gwyn stumbled as Beron swung her around in front of him, slamming her into a wall wasn’t entirely feigned. He was a lot stronger than he looked and her heels were just a little bit too tall. Luckily, she’d worn a pair that could be easily discarded if she needed to run and she braced herself to do just that as he boxed her in against the wall, his face full of cold fury. 

“Did you enjoy showing up tonight in the dress I bought, with the ticket I paid for, while on my miserable son’s arm?” he sneered, not even trying to hide the way he attempted to visually undress her. Gwyn swallowed her gag and stuttered incoherently, as though she were scared of him. 

Cool fingers brushed along the exposed skin between her breasts as he leaned close enough for her to almost taste his whiskey heavy breath. “Have you fucked him yet? Or were you fucking him this whole time while teasing me? Hedging your bets against the bigger prey?”

She refrained from scoffing at the idea that he was possibly a better catch than his much younger son and shook her head vehemently, allowing her eyes to turn glassy and her lip to tremble. “No!” she protested. “No, I swear, I didn’t- I didn’t do anything with E-Eris. He- he just asked to give me a ride. I didn’t know-”

She broke off with a whimper and a heavy flinch as Beron slammed his fist against the wall beside her head. “Don’t lie to me!” he roared.

Cringing back against the wall, Gwyn lowered her eyes from his gaze as she continued to play the trembling fawn he wanted to see. His tone immediately softened. “I’m sorry, forgive me,” he said smoothly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you…”

A glass of champagne appeared in his hand, seemingly out of nowhere. “Here, sweetheart. Have a drink to calm yourself down.”

Gwyn took the glass with trembling fingers and held it up to her lips without actually swallowing anything. She wasn’t stupid enough to trust anything he gave her. Unfortunately, that did not mean she was smart…

Cold fingers once again brushed over her skin, this time along her neck before she felt a sharp pinch that made her gasp as heat flooded her veins from the spot. Fuck. He had a fucking syringe! How had she missed it?

She immediately dropped the glass of champagne, letting it shatter at her feet as she lashed out but whatever he’d given her worked fast. Her movements were already turning sluggish and it took no effort at all for him to catch her wrists and trap them against the wall above her head. 

Gwyn’s entire body went numb as he began checking her over for weapons in the few places she could have hidden them with a cool efficiency that scared her a little. She tried to call out, to warn Azriel what was happening, even though it would have blown her cover more than it already seemed to be but she couldn’t make her mouth move. Her tongue felt swollen and heavy and it was starting to get a bit difficult to breathe, especially as the strength in her legs finally gave up and her body collapsed, the only thing holding her upright was her hands still pinned against the wall overhead. 

Beron’s hands took far too many liberties as he stripped the dagger off her thigh and tossed it aside- not that she could feel much anymore as the drug pumped through her system. When he was apparently satisfied she’d been disarmed, Beron’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her limp body against him. Thankfully she was too numb now to feel the erection she was sure now pressed against her hip. She fought a gag as horror ripped through her mind that she desperately tried to wrestle into submission enough for her to think.

Azriel had seen her come in here with Beron. Depending on where Rhys’ team had been set up initially, it could take a few minutes to get them in position to storm this particular room, but there was still enough time for Beron to do so many terrible things to her before they did, especially now that she couldn’t fight back. 

All she could do now was pray that Azriel was paying attention to the fact that her end had gone silent for a few minutes now and recognized something was wrong. 

She almost fainted in relief when she heard footsteps approaching before realizing it was more than one set, but not enough to be Rhys’ team. She couldn’t turn her head to see what was coming but she heard a deep voice murmur “boss”, before something heavy and suffocating was thrown over her head and she lost the battle to remain conscious. 

[scienceman333]

It seems people here are extremely interested in my new hometown of Gravity Falls after the apocalypse. I can provide a few details.

1. Mayor Cutebiker is incompetent, but manages everything in a better way than the old mayor.

2. Gideon Gleeful is currently attending therapy and getting (some) of the help he needs. He’s still a bit evil however.

3. Fiddleford has been trying to create a “Unrepression Thingamigigmo”. Its purpose is to forcibly unrepress memories the way that the memory wiping machine forcibly repressed them.

[thegroundhogdidit]

i'm struggling to articulate it, but there's a lot that eastward did SO WELL in the very first area of the game. the mayor is repeatedly shown to be an incompetent, power mad asshole who nobody can stand. he knows about the miasma, he knows about charon, but he gets everything wrong. the miasma hasn't turned the world into a wasteland. the train that comes through isn't charon, because charon stops for nobody, much less a few people who made someone look bad.

the bells in potcrock isle are the same as esther city. everyone in esther city is just as trapped as those in potcrock isle.

they foreshadowed william and daniel so well that the second i heard their names i knew who they were.

potcrock isle is a regime. whitewhale bay is a community. new dam city is a group of people just trying to survive. esther city is a sanctuary, but one where memories go to die.

everyone in potcrock isle was wrong. but they were right in their own ways

[hra-official]

Brava here, from Evergreen. Our security is up to snuff, I guarantee it. Sounds hollow after everything that’s happened, I know, but I can tell you the last thing our printer made was a school whiteboard. If it was trying to crank out out death machines again, Castor would’ve cut the stock and power feeds six hours before it turned into a problem. Could be more old tech waking up out there. Militia’s here if you need backup.

Also, I don’t know who it was that called you paranoid, but they can have a chat with me if they’ve got complaints about taking their job seriously.

…the hell’s a Lich, anyway? Whatever it is, I got a railgun here that says I can take it on.

Oh great, so we have clandestine schedule-2 printers somewhere on the planet. Fucking sweet.

I realize I came off as disparaging yesterday, but I don't think your people are negligent or incompetent: you do your job as well as could be reasonably expected. It's just that reasonable expectations are not enough against certain kinds of threats.

When I insisted for those checks, I was afraid there were still "children" of Overland/Kingwatcher out there, but now we have confirmation of Horus activity on the planet.

The reason I haven't actually come over today is because me and other representatives of HRA were summoned by Endeavour themselves about this situation. I expect your mayor will too.

As for what a Lich is: have you seen that lanky mech that looks like the ghost of a suit of armour and which we use to test new weapons? Your railgun could absolutely take it down, as could a few large dogs for that matter, but it wouldn't stick.

[voidnoidoid]

finally jimmy villain arc... GONE WRONG???

ok I wanted a super dramatic angst filled villain arc for jimmy but I couldn't stop laughing during his latest episode hahahaha

it started off emotional with the voices of the other users belittling jimmy for being small and incompetent but uh... when it cut to "What if I was buff and angry?? Look at my six pack.. im PACKED. PACKED!!!!" I just burst out laughing like seeing abs on a tiny Tim was so hilarious im so sorry....

The first act of villainy he did was tearing down the wall and demolishing the statue, which I really enjoyed because it was destroying a huge thing that made him feel small. But meanwhile he retained his goofy silly self bc he forgot that the TNT would fall...

then somehow the next big villainous act is stealing anvils to complete the railway, which.. okay cool. Not what I expected but yeah lets goooo. so he steals a bunch of anvils from everyone, amassing 150 of them!!! Crazy! Then they all get blown up by lizzie's painfully obvious booby trap in animalia along with all of Jim's stuff.

like HOW did he blunder up this bad hahahahaaaaa. im on jimmy's side but man it was just really funny. But a few lines stuck with me. I'll paraphrase since I can't remember 100%... "I messed up my villain arc too!" "You only have to rebuild a crater, I have to rebuild my entire LIFE!!!!" and "You're the real villain all along!" followed by lizzie's maniacal laugh. TO be fair Lizzie has always been the shady mayor running a picture perfect city on the outside while hiding Critter City's shady underbelly. She's started an industrial revolution, so that tracks lol.

Ok but in a way, Jimmy blundered into success. Because if he had used the anvils to build his railway, everyone could have just as easily taken them back. In the explosion, 150 anvils blew up! Gone. The only way everyone else can get them back is by buying iron from False to rebuild them. Jimmy also stole Lizzie's secret anvil, contrary to her thinking it blew up. So.... Jimmy won in the end despite losing everything he had. (And false too since everyone will be heading to her to buy iron)

I'm looking forward to what villainous shenanigans Jimmy will get up to next.... but also hoping for more angsty LORE and a REAL villain arc. And for jimmy to build better gunpowder farms bc what is that...

[frozenfeathers-00]

if y’all don’t know. Rock of Ages has a junior edition. That’s right, an originally Rated R musical because of its illicit sexual nature, questionable amount of drinking, and strong coarse language has a Junior version.

if that wasn’t bad enough, I got to witness this first hand. Because my school preformed it. And as someone who was apart of tech crew, I. Saw. Everything. That. They. Changed.

the worst part is that our drama and choir teacher thought we wouldn’t look at the original musical. Plus it’s pretty obvious that the Dupree Room was VERY CLEARLY a strip club.

so here are some things that they changed from this lovely musical:

They changed the name of the Bourbon Room to “The Dupree Room” after Dennis’ last name. Because an alcoholic reference is a no no

I genuinely thought that Hilda was a real person in the musical. She’s not. She’s just Hertz, she’s just Hertz but a female-

Stacee Jaxx loses his hair and flees to Uruguay because he’s an old man apparently

LONNY AND DENNIS??? NON EXISTENT. We barely even get to see their relationship as owners of the club. Also Can’t fight this feeling is peak and should have been in the real musical

we never got to know that Arsenal absolutely hated Stacee

Stacee owes Dennis for a trip to Tijuana to visit ‘Dr. Hairplugs’ instead of the llama and cool whip incident in the hotel room. (alright that’s probably for the best that they changed that-)

I don’t know what I’m saying anymore

The mayor is still an incompetent little bitch who gets bribed by money

Sherrie rejects Stacee hard when he makes a move on her.

Ja’Keith is not a scammy person, he’s just a rock hater

Drew almost became apart of a boyband.

Justice is just an old lady who houses homeless people in her apartment. we know absolutely nothing else about her. Only that she’s called the Den Mother of the Sunset Strip, and stole Sherrie off of the street.

Drew’s from Detroit (MICHIGAN!)

literally at the end, the finale song is dont stop believing, and at the “He’s just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit.” It’s in the script that they have to say Michigan. Which is pointless, we know where Detroit is.

our sets were peak though even though most of our set crew dropped out lol

I rest my case. Thank you.

P.S.: This has been in my drafts for about a month now. I think I started writing this around the beginning of May-just when we premiered the show. I think I just forgot about it, but I wanted to share this with y’all!!

[mightyflamethrower]

Things are becoming so strange, so surreal, so nihilistic in contemporary America that the chaos can only be deliberate. Chance, incompetence, and accident could not alone explain the series of disasters we now daily witness that are nearly destroying the country.

When the ailing and non-compos-mentis president now speaks, he rarely becomes excited about Iranian or terrorist provocations. Biden seems restrained even at Russia’s outlawry in Ukraine. The atrocities of Hamas now earn only measured objections from Biden. He does not seem too angered by the collapse of the border. Nor do the deaths of 100,000 Americans to imported fentanyl earn a loud trademark Biden scream.

No, what earns his unchecked ire, often expressed in shouts and hysterical tones, are Donald Trump and his supporters. Most recently, out of nowhere, Biden resurrected the old and proven falsehood that Trump had libeled the Normandy dead as losers and suckers. He then compounded that libel by claiming Trump’s supposed dismissal of the heroic dead was a grievous family insult to his own late son, who did not die either in combat or while in uniform but in 2015, tragically, from brain cancer.

During these anti-Trump fits, Biden wakes up and his face tightens up. He begins screaming, in uncharacteristic, animated fashion, anytime he can smear half the nation’s voters as “semi-fascists” and “ultra-MAGA” extremists. In private, he swears that Trump is a “f—ing asshole” and “sick f—k.” If only Biden substituted “cartel” or “Iran” or “Hamas” for “Trump” or “MAGA.” we might see an animate president.

A Borderless Nation

Meanwhile, a mob of illegal aliens recently tried to kick and stomp sprawled New York peace officers into senselessness—felonies that would earn any such violent citizen a decade or more on Rikers Island.

Yet somehow, only a few were arrested. Stranger still, all of them were immediately let go without bail—as if freeing wolves to prey further upon sheep.

Upon release, a few smirked and flipped their middle fingers to bystanders. Apparently, they wished to show Americans that they are violent, crude, unrepentant, and exempt. And thus they tell us that their newfound hosts are fools for letting the likes of themselves in.

And why not, given the attackers bussed with impunity to California—the land of free everything if only one qualifies as illegally residing in the U.S.

These grotesque bullies are part of the eight-million illegal aliens who pranced across the southern border without background checks—all taking Biden up on his 2019 encouragement to “surge” the border with impunity.

Many brandish their cartel affiliations. Some pay for their transit by smuggling cartel fentanyl, which contributes to 100,000 American overdose deaths per year. Others sport lengthy criminal records. All seemed to have been welcomed out of their countries by conniving Latin American governments and mysteriously invited into our country by our derelict president.

The Death of the Law

There is a continuing pattern here. Sometime around late 2020, Americans woke up in a country they no longer recognized. That summer, tens of thousands of rioters had looted, burned, killed, maimed, and assaulted for four months with veritable impunity. Leftwing mayors and governors dubbed the violence as “largely peaceful” demonstrations or a “summer of love.”

The 2020 legacy of defunding the police and exempting criminals on the basis of their race or ideology is that each week now videos circulate of massive looting, smash-and-grab epidemics, and deadly car-jackings in our major cities. No one cares much about the small business owners who are ruined.

Who laments for the poor who lose their last shopping outlet? Does the Biden administration worry over the terrified employees who are ordered to stand back or the occasional security officer totem instructed to stand down?

Instead, we are to empathize with the thief, the assaulter, the rapist, and the carjacker—at least in the sense that he does not deserve punishment for the mayhem he caused, given we, not he, are supposedly the true guilty parties. A lot of innocent and defenseless people have been assaulted and killed since 2020 as the wage of that toxic theory.

So the subtext of all these violent acts is exemption based on perceived correct race, ideology, or membership in the supposed victim/oppressed binary. The perpetrators are either not arrested, let out the same day as arrested, never charged, or never convicted. And the result is a growing distrust of the law and a cynicism that there is little law anymore, just statutes used against political undesirables.

If, for just one month, the Biden justice department used the same resources and budget it has spent the last three years rounding up bystanders at the January 6 riot and instead prosecuted, convicted, and jailed these big-city violent assailants, then the crime epidemic could be solved.

The Implosion of the University

As a general rule, in 2024, the more “prestigious” our universities, and the more they prided themselves as elite or Ivy-League, the more likely there were racially segregated dorms and graduations, a virtual anti-Semitic hounding of Jewish students, grade inflation, watered-down courses, and pro-Hamas terrorist demonstrations.

For nearly a hundred years, universities told us that the SAT or ACT admittance exam was critical in determining their admissions. It was sold as a way to confirm the potential and preparation necessary to perform at a level demanded by these elite schools. The tests were praised as a meritocratic tool to determine talent by honing grade point averages and allowing opportunity to those without money and contacts. Then suddenly, in 2021, these tests were mostly junked.

That dismissal of standardized tests was a de facto admission that:

1) Universities had been admittedly wrong for a century that standardized admissions tests had any value in determining the degree of student preparation needed to complete a rigorous Ivy League class load. or 2) in the interest of diversity, equity, and inclusion, the university would now be free to admit students who could not meet their prior unrealistic or unnecessary standards and instead would accommodate new students by suddenly inflating grades, introducing easier classes, or diminishing required course work.

Of course, the university admits to neither of these realities. It compounds the deception and fraud by claiming new generations of students are more competitive and gifted than ever and will leave with degrees that guarantee employers rigorously trained graduates. Time will soon tell.

The End of Deterrence

The same nihilism characterizes our foreign policy.

Our worst enemies could not have planned a more disastrous and humiliating withdrawal from Afghanistan than the Biden administration’s August 2021 scamper. We simply, without an afterthought, abandoned billions of dollars of sophisticated weapons to Taliban terrorists.

We left behind a $1 billion new embassy and a remodeled Air Force base. We bragged about taking out terrorists with a “righteous strike” that wiped out an entire friendly Afghan family, while 13 American service personnel were blown up trying to secure a non-securable escape route.

Then followed the mysterious laxity as a Chinese spy balloon lazily traversed the U.S. with impunity. Next was the radical drop-off in military recruitment. If one wished to ensure that the one group that serves—and dies—in combat units at twice its demographics would exit the military en masse, prompting an enlistment crisis, the Pentagon could not have done a better job.

The top brass all but accused its white male recruits of being prone to toxic white supremacy, only to form a task force to root it out—and then discover such rage and hatred never existed in the first place.

It nonetheless drummed out 8,400 veterans for not receiving the mRNA vaccinations, many of whom had naturally acquired immunity and real doubts about the efficacy or safety of the inoculations. And, finally, the Pentagon made it known that prior standards of recruitment, promotion, and evaluation had apparently weakened the military. Therefore, new race- and gender-based criteria would ensure fewer and now unneeded white males in positions of rank and influence.

Abroad, China serially threatens to annex Taiwan. A hungry and perennially restless Vladimir Putin once upon a time thought he was restrained from invading his neighbors by fear of more costs incurred than the likelihood of benefits to be gained. But like an earlier reaction to a weakened U.S. in 2008 and 2014, Putin assumed that the 2022 Biden administration would likely do little if he annexed greater swaths of Ukraine. And so he invaded.

National security advisor Jack Sullivan, on the eve of the October 7 Hamas massacres of Jewish citizens, claimed the Middle East was at last calm. Now it is on the verge of a theater-wide war, once Iran sensed that the Biden team would appease and beg it to behave.

So the Biden administration was eager to end oil sanctions, plead with Iran to reenter the Iran Deal, remove the Houthis from terrorist designations, route billions of dollars to Tehran for hostages, junk the Abrams accords, and restore millions of dollars in please-be-nice bribe money to the Palestinians.

Biden’s abject misreading of human nature has ensured that a thuggish theocracy that slaughters abroad and tortures at home would interpret that reproachment as either naiveté or stupidity. And thus it would respond with contempt and escalating aggression. And so it has.

Somehow, over just three years, the Biden administration did to the Middle East what it did to the southern border: blew it up in the same exact manner of mindlessly undoing any policy that had previously worked with Trump’s finger prints on them.

What Is Going On?

What is the common denominator, what is the rationale behind the anarchy, and what is the reason why a president would so willingly rend the fabric of America?

Why would the government privilege the illegal alien over the law-abiding citizen? The violent pro-Hamas, anti-Semitic foreign-born protestor over the peaceful pro-Israel, U.S. citizen? The smash-and-grabber over the dutiful security guard?

We are nearing a French Revolution, reign-of-terror moment. The law seems to be what a cabal of hardcore leftists who control the Oval Office say it is.

Joe Biden’s administration offers no better confirmation of warnings from Thucydides to Thomas Hobbes that the veneer of civilization is precious, hard-won, quite thin, and beneath it churns innate human savagery and chaos roaring to be released.

So why did Biden unleash the hounds of anti-civilization? Did he despise the supposedly boring middle-class citizen who follows the law, pays all his taxes, and never gets arrested? Does he hate the idea of meritocracy? In Biden’s puppeteers’ dangerous calculus, is all this savagery and chaos a deliberate mechanism to ensure parity? Equity? Inclusion?

So is the deliberate nihilism—economic, social, cultural, social, and political—a way of leveling the field? Making life difficult for the more successful? Making those who cherish the traditions and protocols of America pay?

Is that the plan to take the country to near collapse, and then only at the abyss itself to force revolutionary change—or else?

How else can anyone explain the descent of our city downtowns into dank medieval cesspits, our notion of male and female transformed into the sexual circus right out of Petronius’s Satyricon, our race relations into a mixture of Rwanda and Yugoslavia, and our universities into Soviet-like “People’s Universities of Correct Thought?”

None of this was by accident. It is the dividend of a philosophy that says, “We have to blow up your America before we can reboot it for us.”

[generalluxun]

Talking about about abuse and psychological damage, have you the last chapter of stripped socks in ao3¿ I think it really nails what an emotional and mental breakdown in a teenage girl looks like and how friendships can shatter without salting any characters, very good reading.

Thanks for the ask. I had bookmarked it instead of subbing so I was a few chapters behind. I left my thoughts on comments there. Especially in chapter 6, a full breakdown of Marinette.

Let's see if I can copy-pasta it. (Also: people should go read this fic. It is quite good and I am extremely picky)

This is headcanon/psychoanalysis territory but it fits so *well*.

Re:Marinette several things are all simultaneously true.

She feels tremendous guilt not only for what is known, but also what is not known. She recognizes the real wrongs she has done and feels genuine remorse.

She feels resentful, she is a 14yr old girl who fought multiple grown adult supervillains with wildly inadequate training or support most of the time. She's also Ladybug, the one with the answers! The entire city dumped the responsibility for protecting itself on her shoulders.

She has a taste for control. She's Ladybug the leader! She's got tremendous power! This dropped into the life of someone who felt previously powerless. The tendency to swing is obvious. Control the situation, control the information, mitigate chances for embarrassment, slather everything in Bathos, bury uncomfortable truths, keep everyone two steps behind so you can be ready when they catch up to yesterday. Adrien, Su-Han, Gabriel, all of it. You see how it is interwoven itself into who she is now.

She has no legitimate stricture authority anymore. Law enforcement? Powerless. The Mayor? Corrupt. Fu? Gone

Su-Han? Incompetent. Her partner? Smitten. This isn't on her at all but it feeds into her response here. (Curiously a state similar to Chloé's at one point again)

Note:These aren't distinct parts of her or meticulous thoughts. It's a hodgepodge of emotions, reactions, learned behaviors, desperation, and yes on some level deliberate ill-will(we all have some)

So what happens when the truth is forced out? Honestly I think we get a large-scale reaction of how she would have handled Adrien. (She's 14, always remember.) Control was stripped away from her. She wasn't *forced* to do anything, except be honest without her filters.

She leans all into the self-blame/self-harm narrative.

This ticks all the boxes above. She *does* feel bad, bit there is no legitimate authority to hold her accountable, those that can don't. Lacking that catharsis she is left with only the disapproval of the masses, people she does resent on some level, people who know nothing. The panels, the armchair coaches, the mob. What *right* do they have? Well... Every right, because shd is a hero, and she knows this, but will their response be proportional and constructive? Ha. It's the mob.

However, if Marinette deliberately enflames them. If she pushes the 'hate me' if she *feeds* their emotional reaction then she can discount it all, in her heart, as blind hatred. She can de-legitimize caring critique by flooding it with emotional feedback. Hence- 'hate me' to her friends. 'I have to be the villain', because she knows she isn't but if she can make people treat her like one, she can fight against that -in her heart-. She can keep the reckoning at arm's length. The more dear the rejection the more she can justify her own secret-keeping. 'I knew they wouldn't understand, and this is proof'.

And for those who won't turn on her? It's classic sympathy fishing. If I hate me/mock me harder than anyone, those who really care will rush to my defense unconditionally. They will be my duvet against the reality of the situation, because their instinct will be to nurture, to justify in my place, and to be 'on my side'.

Again-this isn't some grand villainous scheme, this is the broken toxic self-defense mechanisms of a kid who has been put in multiple positions well past her depth.

This is why Plagg is so perfect here. He denies her sympathy, but he doesn't seek to punish her. He admits his anger, he tells her plainly what she needs to do to make things right. He holds her accountable in a way no one else will, and gives her a path out of the darkness.

It is exactly what she needs, and also what she is terrified of, because it really *is* something she can fail at. And canon tells us Marinette will do anything to avoid being emotionally vulnerable.

I'm rooting for this Marinette to seize this opportunity and grow. I'm rooting for Kagami and Zoé to find the balance of love and accountability that Marinette's life has lacked.